Perhaps you’ve been to New York City. The Fat Apple. The Big Smoke. The Kardashian That Never Sleeps. A shimmering urban quilt known far and wide for its alpine views and deep-dish pizza.
‘Ha!’ you think. ‘I’ve seen the movies – that’s gibberish! He doesn’t know a thing about New York!’
Hey, probably? Though once, in my 20s, I did walk into a 24-hour Manhattan McDonald’s at Oh Dark Thirty after a long night of cocktails. The interior smelled like sewer feet and my Big Mac looked like it had been hit by a bus, but I was younger and dumber and alcohol helps no one be smart, so I ate. Then I walked two miles to Joe’s Pizza on Carmine and ate enough hot oil and dairy to drown a Sicilian. After which I shambled home and collapsed, face-down, on the couch.
